


Love in 50 Bars or Less (or: How Scott Found Isaac Through the Idiosyncrasies of Rossini)

by whatthedubbs



Series: Night at the Opera AU [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Baritone!Peter, Bassoonist!Boyd, Cellist!Laura, Clarinettist!Danny, Conductor!Deaton, Dancer!Jackson, Dancer!Stiles, F/F, F/M, Flautist!Erica, Flautist!Isaac, M/M, Multi, Musicians, Oboist!Scott, Opera Company!AU, References to Classical Music, Slow Burn, Soprano!Kate, Tenor!Derek, Violinist!Allison, Violinist!Lydia, human!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthedubbs/pseuds/whatthedubbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac and Scott meet at a summer opera workshop in Italy.</p><p>Scisaac ensues.  (Also maybe some Sterek later on).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can We Have The 'A' Please?

Scott arrives five minutes late to the first rehearsal.

He doesn't _mean_ to.  He left the compound where all the musicians are being housed with plenty of time to get there.  But he's still learning his way around this little town, with it's cobbled streets and confusing layout.  He doesn't speak enough Italian to ask for help, either.  So he just had to wander until he caught a glimpse of the opera house's green stucco walls down a side street and ran for the stage door as fast as his cumbersome double case would allow.

Fortunately, when Scott finally stumbles into the pit, it's only half full.  He checks his watch, then the sheet with the rehearsal times on it.  Yep, he's five minutes late.  He shrugs and makes his way to the first oboe chair, instruments in hand, water bottle attached to his belt, reed case clenched between his teeth.  He takes one look at the part on his stand and groans.  _William Tell._ That means duets that have to be practiced.  With some stranger he's never met.  Who, knowing his luck, will probably end up being either a terrible player or someone so far out of his skill level that they'll hate him for holding them back.  Great.

He's frantically going through his reed case for a fresh english horn reed when, in a flurry of movement, a tall, pale, golden-haired boy slides into the chair next to him and pulls a mirror-bright flute from a fancy leather case.  Scott watches warrily as the boy's slender fingers twist the joints together and test the intonation with a few quick puffs of air across the mouthpiece.  He moves with a puzzling combination of grace and flinching hesitation that Scott can't think of a reason for.  

Finally, the flautist seems satisfied, and turns to face Scott for the first time, his eyebrows raised in silent inquiry.

"Scott," Scott offers, saluting the other boy with his oboe.  "Good to meet you."

"Isaac," the boy replies shortly, before shutting Scott down and turning to introduce himself to his second chair, an attractive blonde with a sinful smirk.  They strike up a conversation about different head joints, and Scott tunes them out.  _Great,_ he thinks to himself, rolling his eyes _.  Of all the people I could have to play this stupid duet with, I get the only monosyllabic flautist in existance._

  
 **-X-**

Ten minutes later, the whole orchestra is finally assembled.  Scott is barely paying attention as he frantically scrapes one of his pre-tied english horn reed blanks into something he can play on, pausing only to greet his second when he arrives.  His name is Michael, and he's a second year student at Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore.  Scott can't figure out how he managed to out-play a conservatory student in his audition, but he's too busy trying to ballance the vibration in his hastily-scraped reed to give it much thought.  

When the concertmistress finally stands and gestures to him for the A, he has to take a few calming breaths before he's sure it won't come out sounding like a surprised waterfowl.  He's relieved when he manages to hit it immediately, thanking god for muscle memory and for the impecable intonation of his German-made Gordet oboe.  

The speech that the conductor (one Alan Deaton, resident conductor of the Met in New York) gives after the orchestra tunes and the cast troops onstage goes largely over Scott's head, although he does manage to catch the name of the next opera they'll be doing: Britten's _Death in Venice_.  He's too busy craning his head around to see if he can pick out Stiles.  He rolles his eyes when he sees him making eyes at a grumpy-looking guy in a henly and slim-fit jeans.  The guy is ridiculously muscled, with a five o'clock shaddow that's impressive for ten in the morning.  Stiles looks like he wants to climb the guy right there on the stage, so Scott assumes that it's the amazing Dennis that Stiles has been gushing about all year.  

Scott's attention snaps back to the podium the minute Deaton finally stops talking and sends the cast backstage to get into their costumes and makeup.  He shoves all thoughts of Stiles and his ridiculous crush out of his head and forces himself to listen, flipping through his part and penciling in all the markings that Deaton calls out.  Nothing too complicated, no serious changes or cuts.  Just 'articulate this clearly' and 'make sure to stay under the soloist here' and 'watch me for the speed of this part.'  Scott relaxed as Deaton continued.  It was beginning to look like this wouldn't be as difficult as he thought.

Scott smiles as the lights dim and Deaton raises his baton to begin the overture.  Stiles was right.  This was a good idea.

 

* * *

 

Scott is beginning to think that the whole summer workshop was a bad idea.  _Like anything Stiles ever suggests has ever been a good idea._

Because, somehow, Allison is there too.  _How did she end up here too?_

Sitting next to the concertmistress.  _How did she get so good without him noticing?_

Who happens to be Lydia Martin.  _How did he not notice when she stood up and gestured to him for the A?_

Who just happens to be the person Allison broke up with him to be with.  _He still doesn't understand how that happened._

 _Fuck my life,_ he curses in his head, slouching over so she can't see him over the top of his music stand if she turns around.  _I hate this already._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's really short, but I'm going to have another couple of chapters out today. The next one is going to be a flashback of the end of Scott and Allison't relationship, and explains how Scott ended up at the workshop in the first place.
> 
> Oh, and when I say slow burn, I mean slow burn. Isaac and Scott won't be speaking complete sentences to each other for another couple of chapters yet.
> 
>  
> 
> The author can state from experience that the duet in William Tell requires a LOT of practice together. You can listen to it here if you don't know it (but I'm betting that the majority of people who watched cartoons as a kid know it).  
>  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vct7wi-tgm4
> 
> Gordet is a prestigious stencil oboe of the German maker Kreul. Kreul sadly went out of business in the 1990s, but there are still a lot of used instruments floating around out there. The first oboe I ever tried was a Gordet. It was beyond magnificent; and, while I have a bit of a love affair with my Rigoutat oboe, I would give up the EH part in Dvorak 9 to get my hands on one.
> 
> Haven't decided whether Scott's got a Fox 500 English horn like I have, or a Gordet.
> 
> Oh, and spitting rice is a flute practice technique that's supposed to improve your articulation. I have no idea whether it works or not.
> 
> Oh, also Hi! This is my first fic on AO3. Yay!


	2. Everything is Changing...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback. Around the end of Spring Break (late March).

* * *

He didn't understand it.  They had been fine for months, not fighting, not getting in trouble with Allison's parents (God, her mom scared the SHIT out of him), having good and safe sex, and generally being the best couple on campus.  And then, out of nowhere, she's breaking up with him, telling him that she's not what he wants, which is ridiculous, because how could he ever want anyone other than her.  They're perfect.

But when he tries to tell her, she just laughs sadly and shakes her head.  "No," she says, "You have no idea how much I wish you were right, but you're not."  He asks her to explain, asks if there's nothing he can do to change her mind.  But she shakes her head sadly.  "Nothing.  Scott, we need to end this.  I have to end this.  I can't do it anymore."  She might be crying, Scott can't tell because he's trying not to.  "You have to let me go, Scott," she says after a pause, and now he can tell she's crying.  He reaches out to wipe the tears away, like that time when her grandfather died, but she flinches away, drying them herself.  "Scott, you can't.  Not anymore."  

Scott wants to scream, to shout, to tell her she's wrong, but it's like he can't breathe.  She's ripping him apart with her gentle words and her tears that he wants to soothe, and she's _not letting him_.  Instead, she's backing further away, hugging herself, not meeting his eyes.  "Goodbye, Scott," she whispers, just loud enough for him to hear.  And then she's turning away from him and running back into the school, and he's just standing there in the middle of the lacrosse field, shaking as he tries not to cry, just watching her go.

He doesn't bother going back to class after the lunch period ends.  Instead, he gets on his bike and rides home.  His mother's on her shift at the hospital, so there's no one there to hear him scream into his pillow and cry himself into an exhausted and confused sleep.  It's Stiles who goes after him the minute school is over.  Scott realizes he's been a dick to Stiles for the past three years when Stiles remarks on the new color he's painted his room.  Scott did it with Allison at the end of freshman year, and _Stiles hadn't see it until now._   And that makes him feel even worse, because they're supposed to be best friends.  If he hadn't been shoving Stiles aside to make room for Allison then maybe Stiles would be able to tell him why she decided to break up with him.

All of this comes tumbling out of his mouth between bouts of dispair-induced hiccuping and sniffeling.  And Stiles just listens and pats him on the back, and tells him that it was her loss because Scott's so _good_.  Scott doesn't understand how Stiles can still think that after the way Scott dropped him, but he doesn't argue. 

Then Stiles declares that they're going out for burgers at their favorite diner, and Scott, who had been starting to feel a little better, falls right back into his pit of misery because that's the place he took Allison on their first date, which seems like forever ago.  He doesn't think he'd be able to keep it together if he set foot in that place.  He tells Stiles that he'd rather stay in, and Stiles, because he's a much better friend than Scott, agrees.

* * *

The same pattern repeats for the next month.  Stiles will suggest going somewhere, and Scott will suddenly remember when he went there with Allison, and shake his head.  It doesn't matter that Allison has apparently been actively avoiding the places she knows Scott likes to go (news that Stiles shares around day three after the break-up).  It's just too painful and confusing and wrong without her.  So he doesn't go out.  Doesn't leave the house except for school.  Stiles and his mom start sharing worried looks whenever he declines a trip to one of his former favorite places, communicating with significantly raised eyebrows and little nods that Scott pretends he doesn't see.  They're planning something, but he can't bring himself to care.

* * *

When his mom washes the pillowcase that still smells like Allison't perfume, Scott feels like he's being slowly crushed to death for a week. _  
_

* * *

He finds one of her shirts under his bed _._ He just sits on the floor and stares at it.  It's almost ten minutes before Stiles finds him there.  He's curled around it like it's his favorite teddy bear.  He cries when Stiles and his mom make him give it to them so they can return it to Allison.

* * *

Stiles deletes her contact info from Scott's phone after he spends an entire day composing texts to her that he never sends.  And he removes the pictures of her too.  Not forever; they're in a locked folder on Scott's desktop.  But it still makes him want to punch Stiles every time he sees him for the next three days.

* * *

 

 _When Stiles finally snaps and drags him to the auditions for a summer opera workshop in Italy, he just goes with it.  He'd gotten out of it the year before because he was at Interlocken with Allison in Seattle, and Stiles had gone by himself, and come back gushing over some uber-hot tenor called Derek or Dennis or something.  Scott hadn't been paying much attention because, come on,_ **_Allison,_ ** _but he remembered Stiles saying he was going to go back the next year._

 _And Scott doesn't have an excuse not to go.  Not anymore._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short. But also needed, I think.  
> The next chapter will, I think, be mostly Scott angst. Because everyone is already pairing off, and he's alone.


	3. Wouldn't Trust Him to Shoot an Apple Off Your Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's angsty. Kate makes it worse. There are references to Scott's douche bag of a father. Stiles makes things better by embarrassing himself.

Scott eventually went to get his reed case back, only to find Stiles sitting at a giant table outside a bar with what looked like everyone in the workshop.  He lurked near the door, scanning the group.  Stiles was sandwiched in between what's-his-name and the principle cellist, talking non-stop while the tenor pretended to ignore him.  The bassoonist, Boyd, he thought, was sitting on the tenor's other side, eating quietly.  Isaac and Erica were there too, sitting next to an older guy who Scott remembered sang baritone.  He spotted one of the clarinetists chatting with a member of the _corps de ballet._ There was Deatonand... Yep.  There they were.  Allison and Lydia, seated a couple of places down from where Stiles was making eyes at Mr. Brooding Tenor.  They were laughing.  And holding hands. 

And suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, and he was being pushed toward the table.

"Look who I found!" a woman's voice cooed behind his ear.  "Our little oboist!  Don't lurk at the door, come join us!"  Her voice was fmiliar, but Scott was too bewildewred and surprised to recognize it.  Instead, he gazed in terror at the chair the woman was dragging him towards.  The empty chair across from Allison.  Who was looking at him with wide, guilty eyes. 

Scott let the woman push him down into the empty chair, and promptly turned away from Allison, determined to strike up a conversation with whoever was sitting next to him.  It was Isaac.  Scott opened his mouth to try anyway, but Isaac just shot him a glare and turned away to talk to the same girl who had sat next to him in the pit.  Scott closed his mouth and frowned at the back of the boy's head, then turned to try his other neighbor.  It was the woman who had caught him in the doorway, and now that he could see her properly, he recognized her immediately.  Kate Argent.  Allison's aunt.

"It's Scott, right?" She asked, smirking at him in a way that made him want to be anywhere else but next to her.  He nodded.  "I knew it!" she exclaimed, a smug grin breaking out across her face.  "You're the one Allie dumped this past March!" she crowed loudly.

"Aunt Kate!" Allison had gone bright red and was gaping at her aunt.  Everone else at the table was suddenly focused on them, conversation grinding to a halt.

"What?" Kate asks, turning to Allison.  "You dumped him.  He was making eyes at you from the doorway.  He needs to know he's not worth your time anymore, otherwise he'll never leave.  Trust me, I know."  She said, waving a hand at him dismissively.  "You know that, right?  You've not been harassing my neice with your pathetic attentions?" 

Scott opened his mouth to deny her.  To tell her that he hadn't spoken to her niece in three months, but she was already speaking again, turning away from him to face Allison.

"You made the right decision, Allie," she said, smiling sweetly.  "After what I heard about this boy from his father, well..."  She laughed, her eyes sparkling as she rolled the word 'father' around her tongue as if she were savoring the taste.  "I would have had to break you up myself."  Allison was staring at her aunt like she was speaking in tongues.  "I really can't understand why your parents allowed him in the house in the first place.  I mean, he's so  _weak_..." 

Scott gasped as if he'd been punched at the mention of his father.  He could still remember his father showing him the paperwork he was filling out to send Scott to foster care while his mom worked double shifts at the hospital.  He'd even gloated over her signature on the bottom of the page.  He'd been five when his mom had left for her shift, and his father had taken him to the foster home and left him there.  He could still see the look of disgust on the man's face as he pushed Scott through the door of the home, handed the papers to the woman behind the desk, dropped the bag of Scott's clothes on the floor, and left.  Scott's mother had been horrified, had walked to the Stilinski's to borrow their car when her husband took her car keys, had driven the three hours to Sacremento with Stiles' mom and dad to search for him.  They tried three foster-homes before they found him.  He'd never seen his father again.

But suddenly the man was back. Not in person, but in his mind, telling Scott how he made his mother cry because she had to work so hard to feed him.  Yelling at him when he had an asthma attack, gloating over the papers that stated for all the world to see that his parents didn't want him.  He dimly registered Kate's continuing monologue moving from his asthma to how misguided his mother had been to keep him after his father had done the right thing.  Finally, he'd had enough.  He didn't even hear Allison shouting at Kate to shut up.  He just jerked to his feet, mumbled an apology, and ran out, knocking over his chair in his haste. 

He was three blocks away when his asthma brought him to his knees, grasping his inhaler like a lifeline as he struggled to breathe.  As he forced the medication into his system, all he could hear was his father's nasal voice telling him how his condition was hurting his mother, and how much better her life would be once he was gone.

* * *

Stiles found him that evening.  Scott had missed the second rehearsal, sitting at a corner table in the back of a bar that smelled of cheap cigarettes and stail croissantes.  He'd tried calling his mom three times, but his phone didn't work here.  He'd tried to use a pay phone, but couldn't figure out how to dial to the States.  Eventually he'd given up and found the quietest bar he'd seen while wandering around, ordered a cup of hot chocolate, and settling in for a good mope.  He barely looked up when Stiles fell into the seat across from him.  Just kept staring at his chocolate.  It had gone cold an hour ago.

"Kate's an ass."  Stiles said, after a long silence.  Scott gurnted.  He was surprised it had taken Stiles so long to start talking.  But he doesn't keep talking.  He waits for Scott to respond.  But Scott doesn't have anything to say.  Finally he offers, "Tried to call mom, but she didn't get me an international plan."

"Oh."  Stiles looks at Scott anxiously.  "You do know that your dad forged her signature on the paperwork when he put you up for adoption, right?"

Scott nodded glumly.  "Yeah, I know."  He sighed.  "Did she say what my dad told her?"

Stiles freezes, and Scott groans defeatedly.  "Not all of it," Stiles said quickly, "She was just getting started when Deaton stood up and told her to pack her bags and get out of the compound before the evening rehearsal."  Stiles cranes his neck so he can see Scott's face.  "He said to tell you that you're excused from tonights rehearsal as well as tomorrow morning's if you want."  Scott nodded, his features remaining blank.  Stiles reached out for his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.  "Come on.  Let's get out of here.  Have dinner, just you and me.

Scott mumbled a "Yeah," and tossed four euros onto the table before following Stiles out.  He didn't pay much attention to where they were going, just followed Stiles, lost in his own thoughts.  He jerked back into the here-and-now when Stiles pulled him off the sidewalk and into a small osteria.  Scott stood by as Stiles babbled some Italian at the waitor who greeted them, and then let Stiles lead him to a table in the back, out of sight of the street. 

When their food came, Scott ate like a starving man.  He'd skipped lunch and had barely eaten breakfast, and the food smelled delicious.  Stiles finally relaxed a enough to start telling stories about the other members of the ballet troupe, and how they were all either assholes or wallflowers.  After the wine came (Scott had forgotten that he looked old enough to order it in Italy), Scott even started to make up for lost time teasing Stiles about his infatuation with Mr. Broody Tenor.

"So are you going to audition for Tadzio when we do _Death in Venice_?"  Scott asked, grinning when his question made Stiles cheeks flush.  "Um.  I might be, yeah."  He looks uncomfortable, and continues.  "Not because I think the whole May-October romance thing is hot!  Aschenbach is totally creepy and old as fuck!" 

Scott laughs.  "Yeah, but who's _playing_ Aschenbach?  Is it Derek?  I bet it's Derek.  You're totally going to try and seduce him with your dancing, aren't you?"

Stiles thumps him at that.  "Shut up!"

They both disolve into laughter, and Scott feels a bit better. 

* * *

"Allison asked about you," Stiles says out of nowhere while they're getting ready for bed.  "She wanted you to know that Kate never spoke to her parents or her about your dad, and that that's not why she ended things."  Scott sighs, staring blankly up at the ceiling. 

"Tell her I'll be okay," he says finally, turning over on his side and pulling the sheets over him. 

"Yeah.  Okay.  I'll track her down tomorrow morning," Stiles murmurs, reaching out and switching off the light.

Scott closes his eyes and tries to keep his dad's nasal voice out of his head.  It works until he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK what I'm doing help!
> 
> I don't know anything about how foster care works, sorry if it's grossly wrong (probably is). It was the only thing I could come up with that seemed mean enough.
> 
> Death in Venice is a famous opera by Benjamin Britten about an aging German novelist who falls in love with a Polish boy while staying in Venice. And, though it's not stated in the Wikipedia synopsis, I'm pretty sure Tadzio (the Polish boy) drowns himself at the end while Aschenbach is dying of Cholera on a park bench. 
> 
> Ironic because Tadzio is a silent character, and Stiles is anything but.
> 
> ALSO I'M SORRY THAT SCOTT AND ISAAC STILL HAVEN'T SAID MORE THAN TEN WORDS TO EACH OTHER YET! That will change soon!


	4. Coffee, Flailing, and Sexy Swiss Archers in Lederhosen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Derek and Scott are finally introduced. Lederhosen are funny. Stiles is manipulative.
> 
> (BTW, this is un-beta'd. So yeah, mistakes will happen. I like to think I catch a lot of them, though).

When Scott awoke the next morning, Stiles was already gone.  Sitting up and yawning, he looked around for clues that might tell him where Stiles had disappeared to.  He found one right away: a note left on his bedside table.

_Morning dufus,_

_Went to go find Allison to tell her you're all right.  Then meeting Derek for breakfast at the bar across the piazza from the campus._

_Come join us?  
_

_-S  
_

_  
_Scott folded the note ih half and pursed his lips.  He seriously considered skipping rehearsal and just sleeping in for a minute before rolling out of bed and getting dressed.  One shower, shave, and toothbrushing later, he was walking out of the campus and heading actoss the still-deserted piazza to the only bar that was open at this hour.

He looked around for Stiles the moment he stepped into the warm, good-smelling interior of the bar, and discovered him sitting at a small table by the window, next to a sleepy-looking Derek.  It was almost adorable the way the bigger man's eyes drooped as he nursed his coffee.  Scott beat that though down and slid into the seat between Stiles and Derek.

It took Derek almost a minute to notice his presence, during which time Scott had acquired a warm marmelade croissante and a delicious-smelling cup of hot chocolate as if by magic.  To his surprise, the first thing Derek did was smile at him.  It seemed to surprise Stiles as well, if his muffled gasp was anything to go by.  

"You must be Scott," Derek said, holding out a hand.  Scott shook it.  "And you're Derek.  Did you know Stiles never shuts up about you?"

"Scott!"  Stiles elbows him.

"What?  This is the official Best Friend Interrogation!"  Scott elbows him back.  He missed this.  

"Don't embarrass me!"  Stiles hissed, turning bright red and eying Derek through his lashes.

"Come on!  I'm totally entitled!  What about all those times when you crashed my dates with Allison to share embarrassing stories from when we were kids?"  Scott accused, folding his arms over his chest.  

Stiles flailed.  "That was totally different!  She loved my stories!  She thought they were adorable!  She cooed and made puppy eyes at you.  Which, by the way?  Sickeningly adorable.  You are both sickeningly adorable.  Like, panda-sneezing and scaring itself adorable!"  He gesticulated wildly as he babbled, almost whacking Derek's coffee off the table.  Derek, by some magic, manages to grab hold of Stiles' wrists without getting brained, holding Stiles still and glaring at him. Stiles squeaked and turned an even deeper shade of red.  Scott was impressed.

"Stiles.  Shut up," he growled, "You're babbling again."  Stiles just stared like a deer in the headlights for a moment, then settled back into his chair meekly.  

"Can you teach me and his dad how to do that?  We've been trying to figure that out for years!"  Scott exclaimed, gaping at Derek.

* * *

Scott ended up going to rehearsal that morning.  Not to play, but to watch and listen.

Scott laughed when Stiles first appeared on the stage in lederhosen and a floppy hat.  He watched his friend as he whirled around the stage with the other members of the ballet corps, while the chorus sang a hearty-sounding song in French.

Scott almost laughed again when Derek came on stage.  Half from the ridiculous Swiss costume, and half from the way Stiles nearly stumbled as he gaped at the sight of Derek in said ridiculous costume.  

He hadn't realized before just how long the opera was.  It felt like forever before the first act was over and he could race backstage to tease Stiles about fantasizing over Derek in leather shorts.

* * *

"Don't say a word," Stiles said as soon as he spotted Scott bearing down on him in the wings.

"About what?"  Scott asked innocently.  "About _Derek_ in his _leather pants_ _?"_ Stiles nodded emphatically.  Scott pouted.  "Fine.  But you aren't allowed to tease me about that time Allison wore the lacy stockings anymore."

Stiles spluttered.  "It's nothing like that!"  He said hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone was listening to their conversation.  "Anyway, I'm not the worst by far!  Did you see the way that French soprano was getting up in his space!  I mean, yeah, he's attractive, but she could show a _little_ restraint on stage!  I mean-" He kept talking, Scott nodding at strategic moments.  He'd missed this too, Stiles babbling.  It was familiar.  Comfortable.  He let it wash over him, smile playing around his lips as Stiles started gesticulating.  He'd switched from deriding the blatant sexuality of the soprano to a practical explanation of why lederhosen weren't sexy _at all, Scott.  They're uncomfortable and stiff and never fit right and you can't move freely, so why would I be drooling over Derek in them if they aren't sexy?_

"When are you gonna ask him out?" Scott interrupted Stiles monologue, taking the dancer completely by surprise.

"What?"  Stiles is turning red again.

"Dude, you're so into him.  Ask him out."  Scott folded his arms over his chest.  

Stiles gaped at him.  "I feel like this is opposite day!  _I'm_ supposed to be the one who tells _you_ to man up and ask someone out!  Not the other way 'round!"

Scott shruged.  "I know, man.  But you're, like, head over heels for him.  You talk about him _all the time_.  Just...Get it over with, or something."  He finished lamely.  

Stiles rolled his eyes at him.  "Fine.  I'll do it.  _After_ you talk things out with Allison," he said, just as the stage manager started calling places for the second act.  

" _What?"_ Scott called after him incredulously.  Stiles turned as he walked and shrugged before jogging off behind the corner of a Swiss alp.

* * *

It was just after two in the afternoon when the rehearsal let out.  Scott joined in with the throng of musicians and cast members as they surged out into the quiet streets, making for the larger bars and osterias that remained open during the _pausa._ He elbowed his way through the crowd until he reached Stiles, but his friend shook his head and gestured to the front of the group, where Allison's black hair made a stark contrast to Lydia's strawberry blonde.  Scott groaned.

"I hate you," he whined, letting his friend shove him forward toward the two girls.

As he approached them, he heard Lydia's phone ring.  He watched warrily as she looked at the caller ID and answered.  He couldn't see her face, but he could guess who she was talking to when she turned her head around and waved at him, smiling sweetly.  Scott's eyes widened, and he turned back to look at Stiles.

Who was on the phone.

And waving at him.

By the time he'd finished glaring half-heartedly and turned back around, Lydia had already hung up and excusing herself, breaking away from the group and heading back in the direction of the operahouse.  Scott groaned again, wondering when this had become his life, and pushed his way through the last clump of chatting musicians between him and Allison.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek is going to be so ooc in this, I can already tell.
> 
> In case you wanted to laugh at the costumes Stiles and Derek are wearing...
> 
> Stiles: http://www.ballet.co.uk/images/kobborg/jr_william_tell_harvey_keating_500.jpg   
> Derek: http://www.hattales.com/media/14079/emmanuel-lederhosen-w_Gallery%20Image.jpg
> 
> I like to think that Allison appreciates the way Scott just /gets/ her, even though they're not together anymore. We'll see some more of that next chapter.
> 
> Ugh, School is taking over my life right now. Figures I'd get the inspiration for this the day before the most hectic week of the semester.


	5. Band-Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Allison have a talk. Scott is not sure how he feels about this. Isaac is always prepared.

"So, Stiles is threatening to sexually frustrate himself until we talk things out?" Allison asked incredulously. They were sitting at a small table at the back of a bar a few blocks away from the opera house. Allison had dragged him there as soon as he'd gotten within grabbing range, and demanded he explain why Lydia was cackling like the lead in Carmen.

"Yeah, and you know what he's like when he's pining," Scott replied, eyeing his mineral water (which Allison had convinced him to order by saying it was good for him) suspiciously. "You remember what he was like with Lydia..."

Allison laughed. "Oh god. No, we can't do that to the whole ballet troupe, even if Jackson's in it," she said.

Scott shook his head. "No. I guess we can't." He sighed. "I don't even know what there is to talk out, though. I mean, it's not like I hate you now or anything..."

Allison shrugged. "I don't know either. Maybe he wanted us to stop avoiding each other? I mean, just because we're not together anymore doesn't mean we can't be friends." She gave him a hopeful smile.

"No, I guess it doesn't," he admitted. "I just...I wasn't ready. I didn't think I could do it without screwing everything up or being bitter."  He looked up at her, eyes questioning. "I didn't know how to deal with it, Allison. I thought...when I walked in on you and Lydia that one time...I thought I just wasn't good enough. It wouldn't be the first time..."

"Oh hush," she soothed, tapping him on the nose with her rolled-up napkin.  "That's your dad talking, not you.  I want the real Scott McCall please."  He huffed and wrinkled his nose, and she laughed.  "That was all my fault, and I'm sorry I didn't explain it to you better."  She looked embarrassed.  "Lydia actually smacked me upside the head when I told her how it went.  Then she read me the riot act for being a bitch and perpetuating the stereotype of the 'stupidly fickle teenge girl.'"

Scott stifled a smirk as Allison mimed Lydia's scolding finger and expression of refined distaste.  "Good.  You deserved it," he remonstrated with mock severity.  Then, dropping the facade, he continued.  "And how did you know about my dad?"

Allison blushed a little.  "Um, your mom told me.  Once when I was waiting for you to finish getting ready to go out.  She just...took me aside and told me what he did and that she trusted me not to make him right."  She looked away.  "I figured it was something you didn't want to talk about, so I never asked."

"Oh."  He didn't know how to respond to that.

"Yeah."  She admitted lamely.

_Silence._

Then...

"So, Stiles..." Allison began again.  "He's really serious about Derek?" 

Scott nodded.  "Yeah.  He's been gushing about him since he met the guy last summer."  He took a bite of his sandwich and moaned happily, making Allison giggle.  Blushing, he continued.  "He said he was planning to audition for Tadzio's part in _Death in Venice_ just so he could get him alone in rehearsals..."  He broke off as Allison disolved in a fit of giggles, "What?"

She snorted and laughed out loud.  "He's ridiculous!  Poor Derek!"  She fanned herself with her napkin.  "He's going to be a nervous wreck by the end of the production.  Stiles is a menace.  You should have seen the way Derek was looking at him backstage today!  I thought he was going to carry Stiles off into the dressing rooms and _ravish_ him!"

Scott made a face.  "Eew!  Gross!  Allison, don't _say_ stuff like that!  I'm eating!" He spluttered.  He loved the guy, but thoughts of Stiles having sex were right up there with his _mom_ having sex in the pantheon of Thoughts that were Never Okay.  He quickly slapped his hands over his ears to prevent any other sentences like _that_ one from gaining entry, and glared at her.  "We are not talking about how badly Stiles and Derek want to get it on.  Ever."

She simply laughed and reached across the table to pull his hands away.  "Scott, you're being silly!"

He shook his head frantically, clutching his ears so Allison couldn't pull his hands away.  "Not gonna listen until you promise not to talk about Stiles' sex life."

She sat back in her seat and folded her arms, raising her eyebrow at him.  "How are you gonna know I promised if you can't hear me?" She asked snarkily.

He pouted and let his hands fall.  "Don't make fun of me.  I was trying to protect myself from a traumatic experience!” 

She burst out laughing, and, after a moment, Scott began to smile.  He had missed being able to talk about things with Allison.  He'd thought that he'd lost that when they broke up, that he'd never be able to be friendly with her without dredging up all the pain he'd felt for all those months.  Finding out that they could still laugh and joke about things as mundane as Stiles' antics was taking aweight off his shoulders that he hadn't even known was there.

**-X-**

"So, I didn't ask you before, but I've been meaning to ask.  Are you doing okay?"  

She'd leaned across the table and grabbed his arm just as he'd been about to get up to go to the register to pay.

"What?"  He looked back at her, confused.  "Am I doing 'okay?'"

"Yeah.  I mean, after yesterday..." she trailed off, and Scott settled back into his seat.

"I don't know," he said after a moment of silence.  "I mean, this was great.  Us.  Talking things out.  It helped."  He felt his previously lighthearted mood evaporating, replaced by a sullen listlessness that was unfortunately very familiar to him.  "But it still hurts, Allison.  It just... Thinking about it makes me feel empty."  He sighed, hanging his head.  "I really don't want to talk about it right now."  _Because he might be right,_ he continued in his head.

"Scott, I'm sorry," she squeezed his arm where she still held on to it.  "I won't bring it up again, just... If there's anything I can fix..."

He nodded.  "I'll let you know."

She gave his arm one more squeeze and let it go again.  "Good," she stood up, "now come on, we'll be late for the afternoon rehearsal."

Scott got up and followed her automatically, mind still trying to decide whether he was happy that Allison was talking to him again or upset about being reminded of his episode the previous day.

 

* * *

 

"Hey," Scott murmured to his second as he slid into his chair in the pit.  "Sorry I wasn't here this morning."

"No big," the older boy replied, "Isaac told me that Kate started laying into some pretty personal history yesterday.  Said Deaton gave you the morning off to apologize for her behavior."  Michael slapped him on the back.  "Glad you're feeling better."

"Me too," Scott agreed quickly, before snapping open his reed case and groaning when he realized that he'd never finished the english horn reed he'd started the other day.  He looked at his watch.  He still had about ten minutes to spare.  Just enough.

He reached under his chair for his reed bag, and with a sinking feeling, remembered that he'd left it in his room that morning. "Shit.  Hey man, do you have your reed tools on you?" he asked, turning to Michael.  He sagged in relief as the other oboist nodded and pulled out a battered leather case.

"Knives should be sharp.  I don't have an english horn mandrel, though," the other boy warned him, handing it over.

"It's okay.  I can make it work," Scott answered, opening the case and pulling out a knife, plaque, razor, cutting block, and mandrel.  Quickly, he slotted the reed onto the mandrel and started scraping. 

He was just finishing up the preliminary scrape when someone jostled him from the right.  surprised, his hand slipped, and the edge of the knife dug _hard_ into the tip of his left index finger.  _"Shit!_ " He dropped the knife and stuffed his finger into his mouth, almost poking himself in the eye with the half-shaped reed, which was still on the mandrel clutched between the remaining uninjured fingers.

"Fuck!  Sorry!"  He turned to see Isaac frantically digging through his case on his lap.  "Fuck, I didn's see your elbow there.  I have some band-aids somewhere..."  A box fell from the case's pocket and tumbled to the floor.  "There!"

Scott winced as Isaac jostled his arm again in his haste to grab the box.  He could already taste the coppery taste of his own blood on his tongue, and his finger was _throbbing_.

Fortunately, Isaac re-surfaced a moment later with the box of band-aids and a tube of disinfectant.  "All right, show me your hand," the flautist said, voice a little shaky.

Scott scrunched his eyes closed and whipped his finger out of his mouth, thrusting it in Isaac's direction, his breath tight in his chest.  He _hated_ cutting himself.

"Oh wow, that's a big one," Isaac's voice said, as he felt the mandrel pried out of his hand and placed in his lap.  A moment later, he felt slim, gentle fingers gripping his hand and then a sting as the disinfectant was squeezed onto the cut.  He hissed and felt his breath catch at the pain.  His finger was beginning to _ache_ , and it was making him light-headed.  

"Okay, it's still bleeding a lot.  I need to wipe it clean before I put the band-aid on, okay?"  Isaac's voice was tinged with a bit of frantic urgency, which was not doing anything to make Scott relax.  Then there was the sensation of cloth being wrapped around his finger, and he could _feel the skin catching on it and flopping back and forth_.  

He gasped and whimpered, doubling over as if he'd been punched in the stomach.  He felt faint all of a sudden.  Dimly, he heard Michael trying to reassure him, and Isaac hastening to apply the bandage, but it wasn't until the deed was done and Isaac was shaking his other arm that he was able to breathe properly again.

"I'm...Okay," he said after he had taken a few deep breaths.  He wished his mom was there.  

"You sure?"  Isaac inquired, handing him a clean handkerchief.  Scott stared at it for a moment before he realized that there were tears streaming from his eyes.  

"Yeah," he breathed, taking the cloth and wiping his face.  "It's always like this when I cut myself.  I just need a drink of water and a minute to get my breath back, and then I'll be good."

"Okay..."  Isaac sounded skeptical, but he passed his water bottle to Scott, who took a long drink and then sat back, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.  There was a clatter, and Scott groaned.

"Fuck, I still don't have a reed to play on," he croaked.  

"You can use one of mine," Michael offered.  "I haven't been sick or anything.  

"Thanks,"  Scott gave the other oboist a small smile.  

**-X-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cut-with-a-knife-and-panic routine is based on something that actually happened to me once. On the same pinky. I have the scar to prove it.
> 
> Poor Scott. You have so many problems, and you haven't even had your gay crisis yet.
> 
> And: Hey everyone, it's time for OBOE VOCAB TIME!
> 
> Mandrel: A metal dowel and attached to a (usually wooden) handle. The dowel fits into the reed tube (or Staple), and the handle makes it easier for the oboist to control the position of the reed as they are tying on/scraping.
> 
> Razor Blade: what it says on the tin. Used to cut the tip of a reed open after the preliminary scraping is complete.
> 
> Cutting Block: A (usually wooden) block with a convex top. Tip of the reed is cut open while resting on this block.
> 
> Plaque: A small, flat, metal (or wooden), implement, inserted between the blades of the reed after it has been cut open to protect the edge of the tip from being damaged during scraping. Also helps maintain the backbone of the reed, as this can occasionally be broken by the pressure of the knife.


	6. Battle Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac drops by to check on Scott. Stiles makes fun of them, and is tickled.

"Hey, I know it's late, but I promised Stiles I'd drop by and make sure you changed your bandage before you went to bed."

Scott looked up from where he'd been sharpening his reed knife at the sound of Isaac's voice from the doorway.  "Oh. Okay.  Come on in. I'll be with you in a minute."  He turned back to what he was doing, running the knife twice more along the stone before he tested the edge on his thumbnail. Satisfied, he set the knife and stone aside on the bedside table and turning his full attention on Isaac. 

"Are you sure you should be doing that?" Isaac asked, stepping inside.  "I mean, what if you cut yourself again?"

"I'm fine," Scott replied, picking up the half-scraped reed and slotting it into his case, "I only cut myself because someone-" he shot a pointed look at Isaac, "-knocked my arm." 

The other boy flinched as if he'd been struck.  "Sorry."  He hung his head a little, shoulders slumping. "I'll just change your bandaid and leave you alone."

Scott frowned. Isaac's reaction didn't make sense. He'd barely even said anything. Stiles would have just laughed it off and punched his arm for being a winer.  Isaac looked like he was ready to run away.   "Hey, I'm not mad," he said quickly, swinging his legs up onto the bed. "I just needed to finish this before tomorrow, and it's a little harder without that finger." 

Isaac nodded warily and approached the bed, taking a box of bandaids and a couple of cotton swabs out of his bag.  He said nothing as he crouched down by the side of the bed and reached out for Scott's injured hand.

"You're sure yo u have to change it now?" Scott asked, suddenly nervous. The yawning gulf that opened in the pit of his stomach whenever he cut himself was something he was not anxious to feel again anytime soon.  The pressure of the band aid was keeping it at bay for now, but he knew it would return as soon as the dressing was removed. 

"Yeah" Isaac pulled out a fresh band-aid and set it on the bedside table, well within reach. "You can lie down if you want.  I'll be quick."

Scott sucked in a shaky breath and did as Isaac suggested, closing his eyes tight as the flautist's cool hands began to pick at the edge of the band-aid.  "Talk to me," he said suddenly. "I just...I need a distraction. Otherwise I'll freak out. "

Isaac's hands paused, and Scott peeked at him out of one eye. The boy looked a little panicked, which didn't help Scott's frame of mind. 

"Isaac."

"Right, sorry. Um. What should I talk about?" his hands resumed their work. 

"I don't know.  Anything!" Scott bit his lip, heart rate speeding up slightly as the band-aid's adhesive tugged at his fingernail.  "Where are you from?" 

Another pause.  "Nowhere special," Isaac answered, as he resumed his task.  "Little place in northern Oregon. Middle of nowhere, really." The bandage was almost off.  Scott sucked in a breath and held it as the last of the adhesive gave way. 

"What's it like?" he whimpered.  He wished (not for the first time) that he could actually handle doing stuff like this on his own.  But no, he had to be that kid who hyperventilated every time he got a bruise.   

"Quiet," Isaac replied, tossing the used band-aid into the wastebasket. "Nothing really happens, most of the time." Scott felt the soft fluff of cotton wrapping around his finger, and hissed as it caught on the jagged edge of the cut.  "I live there with my aunt," he continued. "She's actually one of Derek's cousins, so I see him from time to time.  But mostly it's just the two of us.  And her dog."

There was something missing from Isaac's description of his home, but Scott wasn't clear-headed enough to figure out what it was just then.  Thankfully, Isaac was already squeezing some disinfectant onto the cut, and unwrapping the new band-aid.  /Not a moment too soon,/ he thought, sighing and relaxing a little.

"Almost done,' Isaac said softly.  "You still okay?"

Scott cracked open an eye. Isaac was bent over his hand, carefully applying the new band-aid to his finger.  He noticed, without really thinking about it, that Isaac tended to chew on his bottom lip when he was concentrating.  "Yeah, I'm all right," he croaked, not realizing how dry his throat had become in the scarcely five minutes since Isaac had come in.  

"You sure about that, Scotty-boy?" Stiles' voice replied, as the lanky teen stepped in and closed the door behind him.  "You're never is calm when /I/ have to patch you up."

"I'm fine," Scott retorted shortly.  He was annoyed, and not quite sure why.  "Thanks, Isaac," he said in a gentler tone, reaching over with his uninjured hand to pat the flautist lightly on the shoulder.  "You make a good doctor.  Better than Stiles, anyway."

Isaac looked up wide-eyed at Scott for a second, then smiled shyly.  "You're welcome.". He stood and turned toward the door.  "I can change it tomorrow after breakfast, if you want."

Scott hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

-X-

Stiles waited for the door to close behind Isaac before he collapsed backwards onto his bed.  "So, do you like him?"

Scott jolted and almost fell of the bed, much to Stiles'  amusement.  "What?"

Stiles let his head hang off the edge of the bed, regarding Scott upside-down. "Well, whenever I try to put bandaids on you, you end up having to use your inhaler, and I need a team or three just to hold you down," Stiles observed.  "Isaac managed to do it single-handed, and without obvious signs of a struggle."

"So?" Scott retorted defensively.  

"Is he the Scott whisperer?" 

"Shut up."

"I think he is."

"Oh my god, Stiles!" Scott threw a pillow at him.  "Just leave it alone!"

Stiles batted the pillow aside, grinning.  "Nope.  My puppy's finally getting himself a boyfriend.  I'm excited!"

Scott groaned.  "I am not getting a boyfriend," he protested.  "I was just...distracted."

Stiles' grin widened. "By Isaac's golden curls?"

Scott blushed. "No!" he sighed and rolled so he could look Stiles in the eye.  "I made a comment when he came in about how I wouldn't have cut myself if he hadn't bumped into me, and he flinched like I'd just thrown a hammer at his head or something."  He paused.  "I was trying to figure it out.  That's why I didn't freak out.  So there.". He crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest.

Stiles held up his hands in mock supplication. "Dude, it's okay, I know the big gay crisis can be stressful.  Just take deep breaths and make sure you use protection, that's all I ask."

"I'm not having a 'big gay crisis,' Stiles!" Scott growled, sliding off the bed and stalking over to his (former) best friend's bed.  

"Yeah, whatever," Stiles waved him away, "Believe what you want."

"I will," Scott answered, and pounced; holding Stiles down on the bed and tickling him viciously.

"Stop!" Stiles gasped through fits of hysterical laughter, "Scott, if you don't stop I'm going to peeeeeeeee!"

Scott grinned with satisfaction at his victory, and hopped off the bed, flopping down onto his own as if nothing had transpired.  Stiles shot him a glare and turned over onto his stomach, burying his head in his pillow.  "You're a cheater and I hate you."

"Whatever, man.  You were being an ass," Scott replied, stretching and yawning.  "There's nothing going on, so just-" He stopped.  And stared.  At his bandaged finger.  

The band-aid had something written on it.  

"Scott?" Stiles turned his head to see why Scott had stopped mid sentence.  Scott quickly dropped his arm, putting the band-aid out of Stiles' line of sight. 

"Just chill," he said quickly.  "And maybe I won't tease you about how ridiculous your plans for Derek are."

"Fuck you," Stiles shot back, but he was smiling.

-X-

They chatted for a while after that, mostly about how Scott's conversation with Allison had gone.  It wasn't until later, when the lights were out and he was lying awake in bed, that Scott let his mind return to the words scrawled across the band-aid in his finger.

'Dinner w/me Tmrw?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started this on the 9-hour drive back to college. Wrote it on my dad's old iPad, which I inherited over spring break.
> 
> So, Isaac is still an abuse victim in this AU. But I wanted him to be related to Derek because of reasons.
> 
> I fucking hate getting cuts on my fingers. Maybe it comes from being a musician.


End file.
